Copyright 2004 to <mijita@thetreehouse.net>. Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

When I say "edge", I mean "edge". I'm not sure I can say more, but if you're easily squicked, skip this one.

Honesty
by Mija

We've had a ritual for six months, ever since he became "Daddy." Every week, I've called and confessed. He's decided what I deserve and I've agreed to Daddy's discipline.

Always an enema.

Usually a hairbrush spanking.

When I've been very bad, a strapping with Daddy's thick, heavy leather belt.

But this week I would only tell him I deserved a strapping.

He'd argued, but I could not confess further.

Finally, an ultimatum.

"You come here when you're ready to be obedient and punished. Not until."

Quick and hard as a slap, he hung up.

Anything he said, I swore. Except tell.

Daddy slapped me as I walked through the door, yanking my hair so I had to look at him.

"Don't say anything. There's nothing I want to hear from your wicked little mouth. Clear?"

I nodded, my hand cradling my cheek.

He pulled me further inside, stripped me and re-dressed me in a plain white shift.

And . . . a diaper. His hands were clinical. Nothing erotic for my mind to hide behind.

Diapered, I felt instantly ashamed.

He put his face close to mine again.

"I punish you when I decide you deserve it. Not on your say so."

My eyes filled.

"Tell Daddy your dirty secret."

I shook my head. Never.

He sighed, then poured a large spoonful of yellowish liquid.

"Open."

I swallowed, shuddering. Castor oil.

The he led me to a high chair at the kitchen bar. Swiftly he tied my ankles and elbows, leaving my hands free.

Before me, a notebook and pencil and an assignment.

***Write a 5 paragraph essay on why having your daddy is important***

I nodded. Easy.

He took my chin.

"After, write a letter about what you did this week. Everything."

I started to argue.

"But --"

He slapped me, sharply.

"Nothing until you finish. Then we'll talk about untieing you."

Half-way through the essay the cramping started. He saw and watched.

I finished the essay quickly. The cramping moved lower, making the next task easier; the letter now easy to write. I scrawled all the details I'd wanted to hide.

"Daddy, I'm done!"

Just in time.

He stolled over, reading essay and letter with maddening slowness.

"Well, you were a naughty girl."

I writhed for self-control.

"Yes, Daddy. Please, I have to go. You said . . ."

He sat down across from me.

"Darling, you're not going to the toilet today."

"But you said --"

"That now we can talk. This is what happens now. I'll watch you. That oil is going to make you helpless as a baby. And then I'll clean you."

I cried, helpless.

He continued.

"I don't like nasty dirty things, but nothing is secret from your daddy. Then, after you're all clean, you're getting the strapping of your life.

Horror struck along with a huge, rolling cramp. He wouldn't untie me. He would watch.

Unable to cover my face, I opened my mouth and wailed.

[Why Edge?

Okay, first, Daddy / daughter stuff is very core for me, but also very edgy. I haven't played with it much, even in my own head. But there's a lot of power there. I associate "Daddies" with having complete control, complete power.

Second, I haven't talked about scat play before. Nor diapering. Nor enemas. It's so edgy I can hardly type it.

This fantasy grew out of a phone call with someone five years ago. It's my first attempt to write it down.

<goes off to bury head in shame>]

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